


and at the end of the road: you

by AndAllMannerofThings



Series: The Stars Shine Bright [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ahsoka is Going Through It and Barriss is not doing any better (in fact she is doing way Worse), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/F, Implied/Referenced Torture, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:01:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27763426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndAllMannerofThings/pseuds/AndAllMannerofThings
Summary: The second annual Empire Day is right around the corner, and the only thing Ahsoka Tano - newly minted spymaster extraordinaire - wants to do is grab some food and pass out for a few weeks until her duties with the fledgling rebellion call her back into action. Instead, she finds someone she'd never thought she'd ever see again, in this world or the next.Or: two ex-Jedi walk into a bar. Neither are happy about this.
Relationships: Barriss Offee & Ahsoka Tano, Barriss Offee/Ahsoka Tano, Kaeden Larte/Ahsoka Tano (referenced)
Series: The Stars Shine Bright [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030992
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46





	and at the end of the road: you

**Author's Note:**

> On potential triggers:  
> Nothing overly detailed or gorey in nature is inside, but there are multiple instances of brief, explicit descriptions of acts of physical and mental torture in the second and third chapters, and the effects these events had on Barriss' already extremely damaged emotional and mental health. She's at what is almost certainly going to be the single lowest point in her entire life, and it is not pretty  
> There are multiple references to and depictions of Ahsoka abusing alcohol in all three chapters. She's not exactly coping with everything in the best of ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ahsoka finishes her latest mission and receives an Unhappy Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place 1 year, 10 months after Order 66
> 
> See series page for additional information

Ka'ara-1 was a miserable little city-station carved into the side of a miserable little moon orbiting a nameless gas giant deep in the Outer Rim, a hair's breadth away from Hutt territory. Originally founded as a mining colony by a trading conglomerate some four hundred years ago, the station was a sprawling maze of corroding durasteel, crumbling concrete, dried up mineshafts, and buildings packed so closely together that even the mynocks had trouble worming their way through its alleys. While officially under the rule of the Empire, in actual practice Ka'ara-1 was left to its own devices as long as the tributary payments kept flowing and Imp ships continued to be serviced, leaving the entire station a haven for pirates, assassins, smugglers, refugees, corporate tax-dodgers, fugitives, spies, "insurgents," and working class civilians whose goals in life started and ended in getting enough money to keep the lights on.

Ahsoka Tano was pretty sure that she fit in at least four of those categories: she was certainly a spy, not that she was going to go around bragging about it; she met the Empire's criteria for insurgency, such as not submitting herself to them for summary execution as punishment for her status as a survivor of the Purge; she had done her fair share of smuggling for the fledgling Rebellion (and less scrupulous customers whenever funds ran too low); she was without a doubt a fugitive; and it went without saying that she hadn't paid a single credit in tax since the Republic fell nearly two years ago and every person she loved died, disappeared, or were _abandoned because you're a fucking_ **_coward_** _, Tano, and the only thing you've ever been good at is leaving people when they need you most._

Ahsoka sighed, more annoyed than anything. She had become very familiar with regret over the last few years, and she knew by now that it was foolish to try to push it out; far better to distract herself until the feeling eased off. Her first thought was to attempt meditation, but then she remembered that she was on the busiest walkway in the busiest district of Ka'ara-1, and that the crowds of beings and droids shuffling by might object to her sitting down in the middle of the floor. With that in mind, she instead decided to take stock of herself, like she used to during the war to keep herself grounded when the adrenaline was pumping hard and the only things in the world that felt _real_ were blaster bolts and screams.

First, everything at the waist and lower. Her knees were still _sore_ from an unplanned tumble she took out the window of the administration office she'd broken into three nights ago, and she was pretty sure the boots she was wearing for her current cover story as a shipping company's "procurement" specialist were going to give her feet awful blisters if she had to keep them on for another day. The rest of her outfit - an old engineering jumpsuit she'd thrashed to make it as frayed and worn in as possible - was both itching her _terribly_ and far too light for the stinging chill of Ka'ara-1's "entertainment" district.

On to the upper body. Her arms were doing alright, as was her torso, but her stomach was empty, her neck was stiff, and she could feel a migraine on the horizon. She'd been having chronic headaches for years now, and had long ago accepted them as nothing worth troubling herself over, but with how little sleep she'd been getting since she'd arrived in Ka'ara-1 two weeks ago, Ahsoka was _not_ optimistic about how the nausea would feel when it came time to finally get some rest.

Lastly, weapons, if any. Ahsoka reached down reflexively to fidget with her lightsabers, remembered they were currently stashed under the floor panel beneath her ship's sleeping quarters - along with the loot from her little heist - and instead ran her thumb over the hilt of the vibroknife sheathed at the small of her back.

In summary, Ahsoka was in pain, bored, more than a bit annoyed, bored, exhausted, bored, _starving,_ and bored, in that order.

_If this guy doesn't show soon I'm going to have to rip this entire station apart bolt by bolt._

The fact that Ahsoka's contact was delaying the mission by taking _so damn long_ to finally grace her with his presence wasn't even the most upsetting part. What _really_ irritated her was that after almost a year of performing intelligence work, she felt she had earned a teensy bit of professional courtesy, such as not being kept waiting for hours when the meet time was already agreed upon _multiple times_ in advance!

_He has thirty more minutes, and then I'm going to write security and have him declared dead._

Ahsoka leaned against the nearest railing and propped a foot up on the lowest bar. Below her, the slums of Ka'ara-1 stretched out, a labyrinth of exposed cabling and flickering lights. Above, only somewhat visible through the narrow and fogged windows, hung the gas planet in all its orange and red glory. A storm raged in its atmosphere, and though it must've been several hundred kilometers in diameter at the least, when seen from the station it appeared to be little more than a speck of black and purple.

An Abednedo man stepped up beside Ahsoka. He cleared his throat loudly and joined her in leaning against the railing. Ahsoka supposed he was trying to be stealthy, but her montrals had heard him coming for quite a while, and sensed his eagerness in the Force for even longer.

_Finally._

"Hello, Grally," Ahsoka said, throwing a pinch of Mid Rim farmer drawl into her accent. She kept her eyes fixed on the streets below. "Nice of you to show up."

"Who is Grally?" Grally asked. Ahsoka felt her headache approaching faster.

Ahsoka sighed yet again and muttered a curse under her breath. "Hello, _Firewalker._ "

"The banthas will ride at dusk," Grally replied, and Ahsoka gripped the railing tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

"Grally, _no._ I already told you I'm not acting out some trashy spy holoflick with you." She fought to keep her voice level and struggled even harder to keep from turning to him.

"If you don't finish the phrase, how will I know if you're the real Ashla?" Grally asked, his voice dripping with a mix of fake innocence and genuine childlike excitement.

Under different circumstances, in a different time, Ahsoka thought that she probably would've gotten along with the guy pretty well. But now? Tired, starving, and aching head to toe, she had half a mind to grab him by the neck and toss him over the ledge.

"Wow, Grally, you're right!" Ahsoka snapped, not bothering to hide the venom in her voice. "Maybe I'm Ashla's evil twin! Or a clone!"

"C'mon, don't be like that," Grally mumbled. "The banthas ride at dusk." A pause. "Please?"

"And the birds," Ahsoka said through grit teeth, "will sing at dawn."

Grally nodded slightly, the very picture of bored politeness if he hadn't whispered "Yes!" to himself. Ahsoka waited for him to continue. He didn't.

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. _Him and his dramatic pauses._ "Look, _Firewalker_ ," she started, and turned to glance at him, "did you get the- what. What are you wearing?"

Grally was dressed in a black leather trench coat so long it brushed the floor and so polished Ahsoka could make out the outline of her face reflecting back at her. A giant floppy hat with a brim wider than an asteroid belt was perched on top of his head, complete with a colorful feather pinned to the side.

Grally looked down at himself, his face the definition of confusion. "What? You said to dress inconspicuously?"

"This is fu-" Ahsoka paused and tried to think of how to express herself without cursing. "Grally. This is-"

"Firewalker," Grally corrected.

" _Firewalker._ This is not inconspicuous. You are dressed like a supervillain from a children's show."

"Thanks!" Grally said, face lighting up. "My wife said the hat might've been a little much, but the kids loved it!"

Ahsoka stared at him.

"Uh, well," Grally said, rubbing his hands together. "Sorry for running late. My wife got held up at work and my husband's got the pox pretty bad so I had to watch the kids. Oh! And Jazi made the swim team! So I _had_ to get her some sweets to celebrate!"

Ahsoka repressed the urge to ask how, where and why a place like this had a swim team. "That's great. Can I have the package now?"

Grally nodded and made a great show of looking over his shoulders repeatedly. Most likely searching for any "counter agents" or "super spies" that could be "on the prowl" for them.

Ahsoka groaned. "Firewalker. Just. Just act casual," she said. Then, after Grally draped himself over the railing dramatically like some kind of swooning child emperor, "Grally, I'm begging you here."

Grally shoved a hand into his coat and withdrew a small bundle wrapped loosely in paper. He handed it to Ahsoka carefully, using their bodies to block the line of sight of anyone behind them.

Ahsoka took the bundle from him, eyes stuck on the planet above. Curious about why it was larger than expected, she pulled some of the paper out of the way, revealing a book printed in flimsiplast. Ahsoka wasn’t familiar with the script or language the book was written in, but going by the illustration of stylized blueprints on the cover it appeared to be a technical manual of some sort.

"Grally, if I open this book and there's nothing inside except for instructions on rebooting your grandma’s power generator, I am going to be upset."

Grally waved a hand dismissively. "It's in there, Ashy. And before you ask: nobody saw me copy the data. Everyone in customs is _still_ busy processing the refugee ship that came in last night.”

Ahsoka tucked the book into her jumpsuit. "Good. You cover your tracks?"

Grally smiled. "You bet. Scrubbed the access logs entirely. No way to tell anyone has even opened the manifest, let alone downloaded it. I even placed a tracer on Kaniot's terminal to-"

Ahsoka held up a finger. "The less I know, the better it is for both of us." Grally frowned, evidently disappointed that he wouldn't be able to regale her with his harrowing tale of high-stakes computer usage. She reached into a pocket and removed a pouch of credit chits, which he snatched from her eagerly. “You did good, Grally.”

The pouch disappeared into Grally’s supervillain coat with a flourish. He beamed at her, all teeth and patchy facial hair. “You’re still going to put in a good word with your employers, right?”

“Of course,” Ahsoka started, ready to feed him another prepared lie, but then she saw _excitement_ in his eyes, so honest and hopeful, and she faltered. “Grally, I’ve got to level with you,” she said, figuring she owed him a sliver of truth. "My employer isn’t looking for more connections like myself right now. They won’t get back to you no matter how much I recommend you.” Grally’s smile flickered. “I’m sorry,” she added, and meant it. Frustrating though he was to work with, Grally seemed a decent man with a family that needed feeding, and she felt rotten for leading him on for a week with nothing but a bag of credits and an empty promise for future work.

_But I’ll be damned if I drag him further into all this._

Grally’s eyes hardened. At first Ahsoka reckoned it was probably just grief at the loss of a lucrative opportunity, but the set in his jaw and the shift of his arms belied something deeper than mere disappointment. He knew she was lying to him now, even if it was only about the job. “I see,” he said, more to himself than Ahsoka. “Take care.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away without another word.

Ahsoka considered calling out to him, but decided that she had already pushed her luck enough. She checked to make sure the book was securely stashed away in its pocket, and made towards her ship.

***

It took Ahsoka more than a bit of effort to get the bunk in her ship to pivot up into its slot in the wall; the hinges on the bed frame refused to cooperate with her no matter how many times she oiled them or scrubbed them clean.

_It's official. Ship's haunted by a ghost bent on destroying my back._

Thankfully, the floor panels below the bunk were bolted on lightly enough that she could undo them with only the lightest twists with the Force. Inside the compartment were her lightsabers (oh how she missed their weight at her side, even if it had only been a couple of days since she’d had to stow them away), a small case of spice (for bartering when Imperial credits wouldn't cut it so far from Coruscant), a lockbox containing what little money she had left, and the priceless treasure she'd stolen before hand: a data chip the size of her fingernail, loaded up with the hyperspace navigational logs of every cargo vessel that had refueled at Ka'ara-1's dockyard in the last standard month.

Ahsoka scooped up the chip, resealed the panel (after fixing a longing look at her lightsabers), and made towards the terminal in her quarters. As the ship was far older than she was, the computer took an appropriately long amount of time to boot, and Ahsoka spent said time unwrapping the book _Firewalker_ had insisted on packaging her target inside. She thumbed through more than half of the book before she found another data chip tucked inside a hole carved into the pages.

_Gotcha._

Ahsoka tossed the book over her shoulder and slotted the data chips into the terminals row of access ports. A few seconds (and instances of "percussive maintenance" to the side of the monitor courtesy of her fist) later the display sprung to life, bathing Ahsoka in the transcendental majesty of shipping manifests and hyperspace navigational logs.

_By the Force. Be still my heart._

Ahsoka somehow was able to summon enough willpower to start reading the files without weeping uncontrollably at their never-ending splendor. She skimmed through the nav logs until she found the ship that had piqued the Fulcrum network's interest in the first place: _Voidhopper_ , a Hutt cartel cargo superfreighter that was making biweekly voyages from its home port near Nal Hutta to various Imperial installations throughout the region. The ship was obviously trading something of value, and a cell of resistance members that had recently thrown their lot in with Organa's movement were already preparing to hijack the ship but wanted more intel before diving headfirst into a move that would enrage both the Empire and at least one unfathomably wealthy crime boss.

Personally, Ahsoka thought the plan was foolish, short-sighted and sure to bring on more heat than the cell could handle regardless of whether they succeeded or not, but they had requested the network's services in good faith. What they chose to do with her information was entirely their own prerogative.

Ahsoka checked the _Voidhopper_ 's alphanumeric designation and searched for it among the lists of ships whose cargo had been scanned by Ka'ara-1's customs office. She found the ship's entry in short order, and couldn't help but let out a low whistle as she read that _Voidhopper_ was carrying enough condensed tibanna at any given moment to properly cool a hyperdrive generator the size of a small star.

_That'll make the cell a good bit of coin. Assuming they don't set it off and atomise the whole sector._

Satisfied that she had given this job her due diligence, Ahsoka removed the data chips and switched on her terminal's holoprojector unit. She made sure that her voice modulator and scrambling program were working properly, and started a call using the frequency the cell had provided. Before long her avatar of the Fulcrum network's symbol flickered and was replaced by the scarred face of a middle-aged Human.

"Ah, Fulcrum, I was starting to think you got pinched by the Imps," the Human said with a smirk.

"Nothing so exciting, X," Ahsoka replied. "Had to go shopping for the manifest and the contact's relationship with time is more fluid than ours."

X gave a bark of laughter which was distorted beyond recognition by the flimsy connection. "I see. What did you find?"

Ahsoka leaned back in her seat and propped a foot up on the console. "Your target's being used to ferry starship-grade tibanna to the Imperial Navy on behalf of a cartel."

X licked their lips, a hungry glimmer in their eyes. "Well, _damn._ I bet losing that wouldn't feel too good!"

"I bet having your head mounted on a Hutt's mantle wouldn't feel too good either, X," Ahsoka said. She appreciated their enthusiasm, but this idea was sounding more terrible by the second. "Tangling with the cartels isn't good for one's health."

If X was surprised by her less than optimistic outlook, they didn't show it. "What would you recommend?"

"That you scratch this plan entirely," Ahsoka said, wincing at X's hologram; Her headache was already bad enough without subjecting herself to the holo's too-bright video output.

X frowned, clearly intending to object, but held their tongue for the moment. Ahsoka wondered if the grizzled freedom fighter would still show such deference to the Rebellion's enigmatic super-spy if they knew she was less than half their age, having only turned twenty a month ago.

_What a party that was. Me, an entire bottle of vodka, the worst protein cake in the universe, a marathon of Holonet nature docs, and the "sad girl hours" playlist on repeat._

"Superfreighters like these are almost fully automated," X eventually said, snapping Ahsoka out of her fond memories of the best ten-hour nap she'd had in her life thus far. "The crew would be a skeleton, at best, with no dedicated security force."

"It's not the execution I'm worried about, X, it's the follow through. Stealing that ship would throw a wrench in some Imperial plans, but their first concern is going to be sourcing more tibanna, not hunting down some pirates that got a lucky score. Their first move? Cancel their agreement with the Hutts if they can't keep the shipments coming in."

X clicked their tongue. "I see. Scoring against the Hutts is one thing, but ruining a military contract is another entirely."

"If you do it, you scrap the ship," Ahsoka advised. "Lay low and sit on the tibanna if you're planning on selling it."

X gave a hum of affirmation, which only served to convince Ahsoka that they were definitely not going to do any of those things. "Understood. Thanks for the assist, Fulcrum." They went to sever the connection but paused for a beat before smirking. "Ah, what was that nonsense the Jedi always used to say? Hope the Force stays in you?"

The mention of the Jedi so casually, like they'd all been dead and gone for centuries, sent a pang through Ahsoka's heart in spite of how justified most people's indifference and scorn for the Order was. "Wouldn't know," she said, keeping her tone as cool and casual as she could, "never met one."

X laughed. "Consider yourself lucky, then! X out." Their face disappeared into static with a hiss.

Ahsoka's migraine, which up until now had been hovering at a steady "decidedly unpleasant," got drop kicked by the static straight into "worse than Anakin during karaoke night." Ahsoka nudged the holoprojector off with her boot, and took an indulgence of ten seconds to feel sorry for herself before fishing a near-empty pack of painkillers from her jumpsuit. She swallowed a couple of them, shoved the pack back into her pocket, and dragged herself out of her chair, intending to collapse into bed for at least a week. She managed to make it six steps before her stomach grumbled and she remembered that she hadn't eaten in a bit over a standard day.

_Ah, that would explain the grumpiness. Partially._

Ahsoka briefly weighed the pros and cons of putting eating off until she woke up again and found the cons had massacred the pros so thoroughly no-one in their right mind would call it a proper battle.

_Problem: The only foods I have on the ship currently are dehydrated survival rations and ultra-condensed protein bars, both of which have tastes that are best left undescribed._

_Additional Problem: Venting myself into space would be preferable to eating those tonight._

_Begrudging solution: March back out into the wild station yonder and search for something edible._

Ahsoka was resigned to having to experience all the "wonderful" sights and sounds Ka'ara-1 had to offer, but she would not go unprepared: She snagged her pair of darkened work goggles from the ship's engine room to take the edge off the bright lights, and while there was nothing she could do about her montrals beyond wrapping a few loose strips of fabric around them in a futile attempt to muffle her hearing, Ahsoka shrouded her awareness of the Force to the best of her ability; she had _never_ been any good at weakening her hold on the Force and it took no small amount of conscious effort on her part to maintain, but it was still preferable to having to deal with another angle of sensory overload.

_Operation: Don't Starve is a go, Super Agent Tano. Your courage will live on in the memories of trillions. "Hope the Force stays in you."_

***

 _Kaz's_ was a literal hole in the wall: a cantina nestled in a chamber chiseled into the stone of Ka'ara-1. Ahsoka had been there several times since she'd arrived at the station, and found it preferable to the alternatives: it was only a stone's throw from the hangar complex, the food was decent, the prices acceptable, and the bartender - the titular Kaz - was a ridiculously handsome Zabrak woman who made Ahsoka's heart flutter whenever she said "Miss Ashla" in her thick Outer Rim accent, while her twin brother Zak was unfairly pretty and had some funny, if improbable, stories to tell while bussing tables.

The place was busier than usual when Ahsoka arrived, and under normal circumstances she would've appreciated the feeling of the wild crowd that reminded her so much of Coruscant and better times gone by, but now the beings only served to set her teeth on edge. A quick glance at the chrono mounted near the entrance confirmed her suspicions that the shifts at the mines had just let out, forcing her to push and shove her way through a throng of thirsty miners, hungry spacers, and serving droids. Ahsoka caught sight of Zak halfway through her odyssey to the main counter, and he gave her a short wave before diving back into conversation with a particularly haggard looking group of customers.

"Well, looks like Miss Ashla's still here after all!" Kaz called as Ahsoka finally found a gap in the crowd wide enough to let her hop up onto a rickety stool at the bar. "Here I was thinking you skipped town without saying bye!" She flashed Ahsoka a grin that seemed dazzling in the dim light of the cantina.

_Play it cool, 'Soka._

"Ha! Nope!" Ahsoka blurted, ruining her plan in record speed. "I'm still here," she continued, propping her head up on her hands, partly in a futile attempt to salvage any scraps of coolness she may have had remaining, partly because sitting up straight wasn't worth the effort.

"I can see that," Kaz said with a short laugh, and Ahsoka didn't have the energy to fake being unembarrassed. Kaz finished pouring drinks for her current batch of rowdy customers and made her way over to Ahsoka, notepad in hand. "What can I get you? I'd offer you some caf on the house but if you feel half as bad as you look, the last thing you need is to be up another hour."

"Got that right," Ahsoka said. "I'll have a bantha steak and a glass of-" her eyes darted around the bar and all its colorful contents until she settled on a bright blue bottle labeled in Huttese hidden near the floor "-that, please."

Kaz followed her gaze and chuckled. " _That_ is industrial-grade disinfectant, Miss Ashla. I reckon I like you a tad too much to let you have that. Whiskey?"

Ahsoka nodded, dropping a handful of credit chits into Kaz’s outstretched hand. Kaz barked Ahsoka's food order to the kitchen, poured her drink with a flourish, and left to go harangue a particularly rowdy bunch of Rodians near the end of the bar.

Ahsoka bit back a yawn and drained her glass in one long gulp before letting her eyes get a moment of rest. As she had expected, her hearing was still keen despite the wrappings on her montrals, leaving her to contend with the steady roar of conversation around her, punctuated only by the occasional shout of a drunken patron or the shattering of a broken glass. Without opening her eyes, Ahsoka grabbed another painkiller from her pocket and swallowed it dry.

_How glamorous your life has become, Ahsoka. Hope it was all worth it._

Ahsoka had nearly dozed off by the time Kaz returned to her with a plate of steak and a fresh drink, both of which she took eagerly.

“Sorry for the wait, the kitchen was a bit backed up with all those refugees from Nimba 5,” Kaz said, smiling apologetically. Then, under her breath, “Whom my brother is _still_ talking to instead of doing anything useful."

"I don't know why you still let yourself be surprised by that chatterbox," Ahsoka teased, taking a bite out of her meal.

The taste of real meat was so refreshing Ahsoka reckoned she may have been able to shed a tear of joy if she tried hard enough. She got through half of the steak - and all of her drink - in record speed while Kaz busied herself with wiping down the counter.

"Say, you got a partner?" Kaz asked, promptless.

"Nope. My work's best done solo," Ahsoka answered, shoving another forkful of steak in her mouth. She jerked a thumb at the fake logo she'd stenciled on her jumpsuit. "Company policy."

"How 'bout a _partner?_ " Kaz asked, quirking a brow as she ran a hand over her horns and _damn it all,_ she looked so _cool_ in the dim light of the cantina.

_Please, Tano. For once in your life act like you are capable of being smooth._

Ahsoka made a rather inelegant noise as the heat flew to her cheeks. "I, uh, um. No?" She laughed out of nervousness, not amusement. "I mean no. I don't know why I said it like I wasn't sure. I am very sure. That I'm not seeing anyone. Romantically or, uh, ah, otherwise. I'm single."

Kaz was kind enough not to make fun of her, and Ahsoka resolved to say a prayer in her name if a mission ever brought her to a place of worship. "Relax, hon, I'm not tryin' to sweep you off your feet. It's only... Well, Togrutas are supposed to be social creatures, y'know."

"That's right," Ahsoka agreed, though a small, unkind part of her chafed at having someone explain her own species to her.

Kaz chewed her lip in thought for a moment. "I won't pretend to actually know you, Miss Ashla, but you've got... a hell of a storm cloud hanging over you and I have a feeling that traveling alone isn't doing you any favors."

"No, probably not," Ahsoka replied, taking another bite of steak. She had come to the same conclusion months ago, but failed to see any solution to the problem. Droids were an expense she couldn't splurge for at the moment, and anyone she had ever considered family or friend was either dead or better off without her putting them in danger. "I doubt that's going to change anytime soon."

_Or ever, really._

Kaz clicked her tongue. "Sorry to hear that," she said, and it sounded like she meant it. She pointed at Ahsoka's glass. "Another?"

Fuck it. Her mission on Ka'ara-1 was accomplished, and Ahsoka would sooner bet on Palpatine peacefully stepping down from power than on the network's ability to conjure up another assignment that required her own involvement within the next few days. "Sure. A double."

***

Ahsoka knew she shouldn't have had a third drink, or a fourth for that matter, but feeling sorry for herself was something she was _good_ at, and if there was only one lesson the last few years had taught her, it was that she was terrible at most activities that didn’t involve killing, getting others killed, or running. She had failed to notice her best friend's struggles until it was too late to save her or the lives she had taken at the Temple. She couldn't save Anakin, Obi-Wan, Plo, Padmé, or anyone else that ever gave a damn about her during her old life. She killed the 332nd and left Rex to fend for himself halfway across the galaxy. She _fucked up_ on Raada, somehow managed to trick Kaeden into falling for her, got her tortured by the Empire, and made it up to her by tossing her aside to go on some impossible crusade. Her grand plans for the Fulcrum network had so far amounted to nothing more than a handful of desperate spies helping a handful of desperate people carry out a handful of desperate, meaningless missions, and it served Ahsoka right for always being _naive_ enough to believe that _she_ could actually do _anything_ worth-

"I'm making you take a break, Miss Ashla," Kaz said, jolting Ahsoka out of her latest bout of self-pity.

Ahsoka blinked in surprise. The glass in her hand that once contained her fifth drink was empty, and the plate that held the remaining scraps of what had once been a steak was nowhere to be seen. Her throat was scratchy, her vision was beginning to blur, her head was pounding in time with her heartbeat, her fingers were numb, and her stomach was more than a bit upset. She glanced at the nearest chrono and found that much more time had passed since she had entered than she expected.

_Get a hold on yourself._

"That's probably for the best," Ahsoka conceded, handing Kaz her glass.

Kaz sighed in relief. Obviously she had expected Ahsoka to attempt to argue her way into getting served more. She pressed a large cup of water into Ahsoka's hands. "You should probably be on your way, hon. I appreciate your company and your credits, but I'd rather have your seat filled by someone that's still going to be awake ten minutes from now."

As if on cue, Zak strolled up the counter, his bin full to the brim with dirty dishes. "Hey, Ashla! Thought you'd be off this rock by now!" Ahsoka tried to greet him, but Zak continued before she could get a word in. "Seems you had a real good day if you're celebrating this hard (or a real bad one and if so I'm sorry)!" He balanced his bin on one hip and tapped a small pack tucked into his apron pocket. "Deathstick?"

Ahsoka laughed. Obi-Wan would've hated him so _much,_ for so _many_ reasons _._ "No thanks, I think I've had enough substances already."

"Zak," Kaz hissed, her regular friendliness sliding away in favor of the particular sort of annoyance only a sibling could provoke.

"Kaz," Zak said cheerfully, daring his sister to snap at him.

"One: stop trying to give drugs to our customers, especially the nice ones." Kaz pointed to a booth near the entrance. "Two: why are they still here?"

Ahsoka followed her gaze. The booth, which had once been occupied by the ragged group of Nimba 5 refugees Zak had been making eternal conversation with, was now empty save for a single figure slumped over in their seat.

Zak furrowed his brow. Even he could see the argument that was on the horizon. "The doc? I told her she could crash here for the night."

"Zak-"

Zak held up a hand, and Ahsoka was surprised that Kaz didn't slap him right then and there. "Yes, I know we 'ain't a goddamn charity.' Yes, I know we need money, but the Nimba 5 group is splitting up and going their separate ways and she doesn't have anywhere to go until she can catch a ship out of here." He shot the “doc” a brief, worried glance. “She’s in rough shape. She shouldn’t be out on the street.”

Ahsoka wanted to point out that no-one, regardless of their personal situation, should be forced to sleep on the street, but instead settled on gulping down her water as quickly as she could manage without getting woozy, if only so she could have an excuse to slip away from the family drama.

Kaz was silent for a long while, arms crossed and teeth bare, before she practically deflated with a long-suffering sigh. “She can stay,” she said, jabbing Zak right in the chest, “for two hours. Then she has to go, bed or no bed, ride or no ride.” Zak tried to speak, but it was Kaz’s turn to hold up a hand. “That’s final. We can’t be late on rent again and we can’t spare the space for guests.”

Ahsoka swallowed the last of her water and stood up from her seat, wobbling as the full weight of her drinks settled into her limbs. Force, she’d had _way_ too much, _way_ too quickly. Between the migraine and the liquor, she’d probably consider death a mercy come morning. “Well, I should head out,” she said, more as a reminder to herself than an announcement to the twins.

Kaz blinked, surprised that Ahsoka was still there. “Sure thing, hon. Will we see you again?”

“Probably not,” Ahsoka said, waving a hand dismissively, “I’ll be heading out of here in a day or two.” Then, after gesturing at her jumpsuit’s logo for unneeded emphasis, “A Togruta’s work is never done!” She tried to flash the siblings a charming smile, but if their amused reactions were anything to go by, she suspected she had failed.

Kaz was, once again, kind enough not to laugh. Zak didn’t have such scruples. “I’m sure! If you’re ever back, you know where to find us!”

Ahsoka bid the twins farewell and began to struggle and stagger her way through the never ending sea that was _Kaz’s_ patrons. A combination of convenience and curiosity led to Ahsoka drawing near the booth the refugee was sleeping in, and she found the good doctor wrapped tight in a black cloak and a purple cape in place of blankets, which only served to make her resemble a _wilting flower_ (or any number of other pretentious, overwrought, condescending similes Ahsoka wasn't sober enough to come up with at the moment). The doctor's right arm, the only part of her body free from her cocoon, was hanging in an improvised sling, the edge of which her gloved hand was fiddling with unconsciously. Her hair was wrapped in a crisply pressed purple headscarf, and her face was hidden entirely, crushed as it was against a giant duffel bag she was using as a pillow.

Ahsoka felt an inexplicable twinge of recognition at the sight, and though she couldn't risk taking the doctor to whatever planet she wanted to go to, she still resolved herself to help. She shoved her hand into her jumpsuit's pocket and pulled out what little money was left on her person: a handful of low denomination credit chits; not nearly enough to get the doctor a spot on a transport out of Ka'ara-1, but it would suffice to at least get her something hot to eat and a bunk at a hostel for the night.

Ahsoka nearly left the credits on the table without a word, but after a quick glance at the _colorful_ characters milling about, decided that it was better to give them straight to the doctor for safekeeping. She paused for a moment as she remembered the lilt and drawl Miss Ashla Araya, Shipping Expert (and definitely _not_ a secret rebel spy) was supposed to speak with, and tried her damndest not to slur her words. "'Scuse me, ma'am."

The doctor, quite the light sleeper, stirred and brought her uninjured arm up to shield her face from the cantina lights. "Yes?" she mumbled into her palm, voice hoarse and strained from thirst and overuse.

Ahsoka tapped the edges of the credits on the table and let her gaze wander to the nearest window while the doctor woke herself up. "Some money, for-"

"No," the doctor said, "thank you, but it's really not-" she cut off with a gasp that carried as much pain as it did surprise.

Ahsoka frowned and looked back to ask the doctor if she was alright, but the words died in her throat when she saw _her_ face.

Barriss Offee was in a truly _sorry_ state. She was pale from fatigue, which had made a home in every bone and muscle in her body. The loose hang of her threadbare clothes and the hollowness to her frame betrayed months of rough living and constant travel. The left side of her face was webbed with still-healing burns and cuts, and a nasty gouge along her mouth still bore stitching. She had been beaten down and ground against some of the worst the galaxy could bring to bear against a person, yet somehow, in spite of it all, her eyes - Force, _her eyes_ \- still glittered like an ocean at sunset; a single undeserved constant in a universe that never stopped changing.

_Fucking impossible._

Ahsoka felt the credits slip through her fingers and rattle on the floor, one, two, three, four. Adrenaline and _fear_ spiked up her spine and settled in her heart. Her hand twitched towards the hilt of her vibroknife. She grabbed it, and she knew if she drew it Barriss wouldn't resist because _she knows she deserves it, Tano, and who are you to deny her justice?_

Ahsoka wanted to cry.

Barriss tried to speak, but no sound at all came from her as she struggled to find a word, any word at all, to say. Her mouth opened and closed as though she was drowning in air.

 _Do it. You want it,_ she _wants it.  
_

“No!” Ahsoka snapped, screwing her eyes shut as she ripped her hand away from the vibroknife. “You-” She couldn't think, blind panic was racing through her, strangling every nerve, anger - _fury_ \- set her soul on fire. She _needed_ to leave, for her own sake as much as Barriss’, but her feet stayed rooted on the spot. “-alive, you’re-”

"Ahsoka?" Barriss choked out, at long last, unable and unwilling to believe her own eyes. Her face was a mask of shock, as frozen as any statue. “‘Soka-”

Hearing _Barriss_ say her name - her _real_ name, the one she had chosen for herself all those years ago - after _everything_ that had happened between them was the last straw. Ahsoka felt her reins on the Force snap one by one, and the presence of every living being on Ka'ara-1 slammed into her at once, driving the air from her lungs. Her heart skipped a beat. Her head was going to split open. Force, Ahsoka was going to _die_ and it was going to hurt.

Barriss' shock twisted into something Ahsoka couldn't place. She spoke, but Ahsoka could only hear the pounding of her own heartbeat.

_Run._

“You’re alive,” Ahsoka said, gasping for breath. Then, because she simply didn’t have any idea what she _should_ say to the woman that had shattered her heart into a thousand pieces and flipped her entire world upside down, “It's you.”

Barriss’ _eyes_ glimmered with unshed tears. She reached out to Ahsoka, fingertips barely grazing her arm, but she snapped her hand back at the last moment, like a child pressing their palm too close to a stove. “It's me,” she confirmed, her face written with pain and worry.

Ahsoka couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear, couldn’t see. Everything was a blur of color, meaningless sound and desperation. She had to get back to her ship, where things made sense, so she staggered back from the table, every inch of her body numb and empty as space, and she stumbled towards the direction she knew the exit had to be in.

Barriss’ voice rose behind her. “-soka? Ahso-”

_Don't look at her, don't look at her, don't look at her, don'tlookatherdo-_

Ahsoka slammed into a serving droid and tumbled to the floor, smacking her cheek on the hard durasteel below. Somewhere behind her, Kaz called out her false, worthless name.

_Run, breathe, live._

Ahsoka scrambled to her feet and shoved the last few customers between her and the exit out of her way, uncaring of the pleas and curses behind her - the cantina was too small, too tight, too _full._

_Does she deserve your mercy?_

Ahsoka grit her teeth as she flung the door open with all she had. She took a few tentative steps towards the hangar complex, but her legs were jelly and she could _feel_ Barriss running up beside her, her fear and pain as palpable in the Force as Ahsoka’s own.

_If she doesn’t deserve my mercy, no-one does._

Ahsoka slumped against the building nearest to her, and let out one last shaky breath before her world went blank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Ahsoka's state of mind, as it's a good bit darker and more beaten down than she is usually portrayed with:  
> She is currently juggling, in no particular order: PTSD, survivor's guilt, the weight of all the Trauma she's experienced over the last couple of years finally starting to catch up with her, the knowledge that the Rebellion has a very high chance of failure, extreme loneliness, regret, exhaustion, a dash of depression and a smidge of self-loathing. None of her own personal beliefs regarding her own actions or abilities are objective in the slightest, she is lost in sadness, anger, and pain, and is searching, consciously and unconsciously, for reasons to justify and validate her own feelings, regardless of how truthful or accurate they may be
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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